


Vestis Facit Virum

by kyrilu



Category: High School Musical (Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Sharing Clothes, Teen Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 20:18:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/752636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrilu/pseuds/kyrilu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before the music starts, Ryan winks at Chad, touches the borrowed tie, and says, “Watch me dance, Danforth,” and Chad does.</p><p>(Or: five times Chad and Ryan shared clothes, and the one time they didn't.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vestis Facit Virum

**Author's Note:**

> This fic ignores HSM #3.

**one.**

“You’re pretty cool,” Chad says, in the Lava Springs locker room after the baseball game. It’s the staff’s locker room, but Ryan’s there with the rest of them, flushed with exertion. Nobody gives his presence a second glance; Ryan doesn’t turn his nose up at the modest decor, either -- plain wooden benches cluttered with backpacks, the scent of sweat, half-open lockers.

“Thanks,” Ryan says. He’s wiping the sweat off his face with a bright pink towel, but he looks up at Chad to smile.

“Not like _Miss Evans_ ,” someone -- Jim Wilson, one of Chad’s fellow waiters who has to put up with Sharpay’s demands -- says. “Seriously, dude, you’re good.”

“Don’t say that about Sharpay,” Zeke says with a frown. “She’s not that bad. Just kinda bossy.”

Chad rolls his eyes at that. Zeke is still crushing after the Ice Queen. Nice.

“Only a bit?” Jim Wilson says, with a laugh. “You’re stuck in the kitchen too long, Zeke. Steam goes to your head.”

Zeke scoffs. He and Wilson start arguing with each other; Wilson complains how Sharpay snapped at him for not cutting the lemon slice for her drink the right size. And how Sharpay made him feed her dog by hand. _I’m not a goddamned dog bowl_ , Chad hears Wilson grumble. The argument is a circular one, Zeke cutting in to praise Sharpay nevertheless.

Ryan shrugs and says simply to Chad, “She’s my sister. Shar’s acting up a lot this summer. I think she’ll get over it eventually.”

“And you’ll teach us how to beat her out of that Star Shine award thing,” Chad says, clapping Ryan’s back heartily. The back of Ryan’s shirt is light brown from dirt; some of it smears onto the palm of his hand. (He doesn’t mention Troy, who’s similarly ‘acting up’ this summer; he doesn’t want to think about it.)

“Star Dazzle,” Ryan corrects.

“Yeah, that.”

Ryan smiles, an uplift on the edge of his mouth. It’s a nice look on him -- not like the smug sneer that he used to adopt beside Sharpay. “Trade jerseys with me, Danforth?”

Even though his shirt isn’t really a jersey, most likely a fancy designer shirt that could probably still be sold on Ebay for good money, despite the dirt stain. But it’s not about that, Chad knows. It’s the gesture. The tradition. He’s played enough sports for pretty much the entirety of his life to know this.

“Sure.” Chad tugs off his red jersey and undershirt, his vision briefly obscured by the fabric. When his vision clears, he catches a glance of Ryan’s chest, smooth skin and lean muscle -- all that _dancing_ \-- and Chad quickly shoves the clothes into Ryan’s arms. “Here.”

They both put the shirts on. Ryan holds Chad’s gaze, something unfathomable in his eyes, and says, “Wanna match the bottoms? It’s bugging me; the outfits don’t match.” The words _make sense_ , fashion-obsessed Ryan Evans, but somehow they don’t.

Chad forces himself to nod. “Whatever floats your boat.” He flicks his red cap toward Ryan, who catches it easily.

Ryan’s legs are similarly toned, pale. His waist looks like something you could put your hands around -- _dancing_ , Chad thinks again.

In the meanwhile, the locker room begins to empty. Everyone’s hungry from the game -- enticed by Zeke’s promise of muffins -- but Chad’s too focused on Ryan to care about his stomach. In time, they’re the only two guys left.

Finally, Chad and Ryan are dressed. Chad studies himself in one of the mirrors, clad in Ryan’s white attire, and clumsily mimics a dancing move he had seen Ryan do once.

Ryan laughs. “Jazz square, Chad?”

“That’s what it’s called?”

“Yeah. But more like a jazz triangle,” -- Ryan’s laughing harder, that brat -- “Seriously, that was kinda crappy. But it was a nice first attempt. ‘Cause you _can_ dance.”

“Whatever,” Chad says, grinning. He bends over to gather his things, ready to leave the room. “Coming, Ryan? You’re welcome to the baseball picnic. You heard the guys -- Zeke’s muffins, and make sure you don’t pass over Gabi’s mom’s brownies.”

“The food better be low-fat,” Ryan says. He sounds so much like Sharpay that Chad winces. “Ouch, low blow? I was _joking_. Thank you for the invitation. I’ll join you.” He lifts his bag over his shoulders.

“I know, I know,” Chad says. He waves at Ryan to follow him, walking to the doorway.

He feels Ryan’s hand on his shoulder. “Hold on. You forgot something.”

Chad turns around, and Ryan places his black-and-white striped hat on Chad’s head. Ryan’s fingers brush against his forehead, tucking his hair underneath the cap, and Chad stands still, frozen in place.

“There,” Ryan says.

 

**two.**

Taylor breaks up with Chad at the end of the summer.

“It’s senior year,” she says gently, when Chad reels backward. “I want to keep my grades up, not waste time chasing after a relationship that’ll end eventually. I know a lot of students are slacking off because it’s the last year, but I’m not going to do that. I’ve got my eye on Ivy League schools. I need to work hard, even now.” She has signed up for AP classes, though she could have taken a free period. Multiple free periods, even.

Chad swallows, his throat thick. But he gets her; he’s working his ass for a scholarship, and hopefully he’ll get it. “Okay. I understand, y’know...just surprised. Good luck, although I don’t think you need it. You’ll do good, Tay. I know you will.”

Taylor smiles, moving to kiss his forehead. “I’m proud to call you my first boyfriend, Chad. You’re not such a dumb jock after all.”

“Hey,” Chad protests, but he cracks a grin. “Proud of you, too. We still friends now?”

“Friends,” Taylor agrees.

Chad had thought breakups were supposed to be messy, like Troy and Gabriella’s occasional relationship pitfalls, but this is mutual, simple. He hugs Taylor, and says, “Awesome.”

 

* * *

 

 

It’s October. The Evans twins throw a huge birthday party at their house. The silver embossed invitations ask guests to come in pairs, so Chad and Taylor arrive together, as friends.

The word ‘house’ is wrong. _Mansion_ fits the building better. It looks to be at least three-stories, a large backyard, and there’s a _red carpet_ covered in glitter stretched to the doorway.

“Seriously,” Chad says flatly. “Are we supposed to walk across that thing?”

“I think so,” Taylor says, her eyebrows raised.

“I feel really underdressed,” Chad admits. He is wearing a collared grey shirt, khaki trousers; it’s way more casual than the flowery blue dress Taylor has on. “I have a feeling Sharpay’s going to chew me out.”

“I’ll keep her off your back,” a voice says cheerily.

Chad, currently preoccupied by the monstrosity of a carpet, looks up, startled. The front door opens; Chad notices a camera hanging above the door. “Hey, Ryan,” he says. “Happy bday, man.”

“Happy birthday, Ryan,” Taylor says. “Nice place you got here.” Ryan acknowledges her compliment with a nod.

“Hi, Chad. Hi, Taylor,” Ryan says. _He’s_ definitely not underdressed, clad in a three-piece gold suit, holding onto a cane, of all things. He leads them inside. “Thank you for coming. The carpet’s here because Sharpay’s planned on making a grand entrance. My parents’ present to her was an all-out shopping spree, and she wanted to go right away. She’ll be back later.”

“You mean her usual shopping sprees aren’t all-out already?” Taylor says in disbelief.

Last month, to extend some sort of olive branch of friendship, Sharpay had collectively insulted Taylor, Gabriella, Kelsi, and Martha’s fashion styles, and dragged them to the mall, treating them to what she called ‘early birthday presents.’ According to the girls, it had actually been fun, and Sharpay was slowly becoming...a friend, almost, to all of them. Chad would never admit that out loud.

Ryan shrugs in response to Taylor’s question. “Yeah, we have a spending limit. You two are early, by the way. It’s only Kelsi here, in the parlor.”

“Hello,” Kelsi says. She sits at a grand piano, messing at the keys. A glass of pink lemonade rests on the bench beside her. “Listen to this.” She starts playing what looks to be a complicated piece, her fingers like quicksilver across black and white.

“That’s really good,” Taylor says, and Chad nods in agreement. Ryan claps eagerly, tucking his cane underneath his arms when he does so. Taylor takes a seat beside Kelsi, asking her about the song -- _are there any lyrics to this?_ \-- leaving Chad and Ryan to talk. They stand comfortably by each other; Chad thinks, _That baseball game really changed things, did it?_ Because they’re hanging out a lot.

“What’s with the cane?” Chad says finally.

Ryan beams. “I’m glad you asked.” He twirls, spinning the cane like a cheerleader’s baton, a flash of gold. “Sharpay and I are performing for everyone. Sweet, no?”

Chad laughs; he almost says _adorable_ , but catches himself in time. “Sweet,” he says.

Suddenly, Ryan says decisively, “I can solve your wardrobe problem, Chad. Come on, I think I have some things that’ll work for you.”

“What--?” Chad says, but Ryan grabs his arm, half-dragging him down a hall, inside a bedroom. Ryan disappears into a doorway -- a walk-in closet, Chad sees -- and pops out, offering a suit jacket and a tie.

Ryan compares the colors, squinting. The jacket is a darker grey than the shirt Chad is wearing; the tie is red. Chad resigns himself to Ryan’s scrutiny.

“Fabulous,” Ryan says happily.

“What, no hat?” Chad teases. He accepts the jacket, slipping it on with care. It fits him pretty well.

“No, you don’t need a hat. You look fine without one. Turn around,” Ryan says, making a gesture.

Chad obeys. His feet do a half-pivot, half-shuffle.

“Mm, the jacket is a little bit tight. I should call the tailor over.”

“Don’t do that,” Chad says, exasperated. “Jeez, Ryan. It’s your jacket. You don’t have to alter it for me.”

“Fine,” Ryan says with a frown. “Here, give me the tie.”

Chad reaches for the tie, unexpectedly smooth, and -- “Wait, is this _silk_?”

“What else could it be?” Ryan says. “I’ll put it on. You wore a clip-on to last year’s Sadie Hawkins -- I have a feeling you don’t know how to do real ones properly.” The last sentence is almost accusatory.

“You noticed what I wore?” Chad screws up his face, trying to remember -- he had accepted a cheerleader’s invitation; he hadn’t been dating Taylor yet.

Ryan stiffens, then seems to shake himself out of his trance and say, “Of course I did. That tie clashed horribly with your shoes.” Softer, Ryan adds, “The pants were a nice touch, though.”

Fingers brush against his neck, slowly curling around his collar bone. Ryan winds the red tie into a careful knot, his blue eyes seeming to smile at Chad. Chad has one of his hands folded over the other, and the elevation of his pulse is thrumming and obvious there, escalating higher, further.

 _I’m not--_ Chad thinks desperately. _\--I can’t be._

This is Ryan fucking Evans. Not Taylor, not the pretty cheerleaders that Chad used to go on casual dates, not anyone who should make him freak out like this. Ryan’s not supposed to look at Chad like that, close and bright and through his eyelashes; there’s black eyeliner and silver glitter on his face and Chad can’t think of Ryan as anything but _perfect._

“Finished,” Ryan says, his hands falling away.

“Thanks,” Chad says, hoarse. He pretends not to notice the trail of silver Ryan left at his throat. Christ, Ryan has the stuff all over his skin, his clothes. A force like gravity compels him to almost touch the tie, but somehow he doesn’t. He doesn’t.

 

* * *

 

 

Before the music starts, Ryan winks at Chad, touches the borrowed tie, and says, “Watch me dance, Danforth,” and Chad does.

 

* * *

 

 

Later, he remembers that the Sadie Hawkins dance Ryan referred to featured Chad wearing uncomfortably tight pants, borrowed last minute from his cousin. His date had commented playfully on his ass -- and she wasn’t the only who noticed, apparently.

But he doesn’t remember until much later.

 

**three.**

“Hey, Evans! Catch!”

Chad tosses a paper bag to Ryan, and the guy deftly catches it with one hand, his other hand still hanging onto his locker. Ryan examines the bag, which holds the borrowed coat and tie, and says mildly, “You didn’t have to wash them, you know. I have housekeepers.”

“Keep shoving that in my face now, will you?” Chad says, rolling his eyes. “It’s fine. Thanks for letting me wear ‘em. I looked sharp, dude.”

“No problem,” Ryan says.

“I should return the favor,” Chad says with a grin.

Somehow he manages to, sort of. Miss Darbus catches Chad trying to hold a silent conversation with Ryan across the room -- it’s Ryan’s _fault_ ; Chad has no idea what Ryan was mouthing to him, because he started it -- and gives them both detention after school.

It honestly sucks. They have to clean up the theatre, no matter how much Ryan grumbles about his birthday manicure or Chad complains that he has basketball practice.

He unearths a black trilby while sorting out the backstage changing room, placing it on his head. Doffs it with an extravagant gesture, and says to Ryan, “Want it?”

It’s one of Ryan’s rare, hatless school days. So. Why not?

“Thief,” Ryan says, the fondness so warm and rich in his voice that Chad thinks: _I will fucking dance for this guy if he asks me, I don’t know why we had to go through that whole baseball thing; hell, I’ll be the Michael Crawford to his Andrew Lloyd Webber_ \--

Chad promptly decides that he hates his mother.

Ryan dons the trilby. “Huh. Not bad.”

He spins again, like he did last night, hand on the hat like Michael Jackson. Chad watches Ryan dance to a silent song in the air, and he laughs and laughs. Ryan stops to grin at him, not even out of breath, and he bows.

 

* * *

 

 

Chad and Ryan spend weeks after school -- after basketball practice or rehearsal, respectively -- tossing a baseball back and forth between them. The park they frequent is a nice place; Chad always make sure to pack his baseball mitt in his backpack if they’re free to go.

When they’re tired of playing catch, they slump onto the baseball diamond, using the plates as cushions, their clothes browned from the field. They talk about movies, friends, stupid little things that make them laugh like maniacs.

“The musical’s tomorrow night, right?” Chad asks on a cool November day.

Ryan nods. “You can come. I can score you a free ticket, even.” He waggles an eyebrow, letting the offer hang.

“Wait, really?”

“Miss Darbus likes us,” Ryan says with a shrug. _Us_ meaning he and Sharpay, of course.

Chad beams and says, “Okay. Thanks.”

Ryan’s eyes are very wide when Chad’s face lightens. Very wide and very blue. He leans forward, his weight shifting toward Chad, and--

“I can’t,” Chad says, a lump in his throat, and he moves backwards, away. “ _Ryan._ ”

Ryan recoils, as if Chad’s punched him. “Five months,” he says. “It’s been five months. I saw you looking at me in the Lava Springs locker room.” He takes a breath. “But I guess that’s all it is, isn’t it? You don’t -- it’s just _looking._ ”

Chad opens his mouth to say something, but Ryan scrambles to his feet, kicking up dirt, and leaves.

 

* * *

 

 

The next day at school, Ryan avoids him, darting around corners when Chad tries to talk. Chad resolves to go to the musical anyway.

 

**four.**

For the winter musicale -- winter-themed, but ludicrously not in December -- Chad manages to find Ryan backstage during opening night. “Break a leg.”

Ryan wears one of the most ridiculous costumes Chad’s ever seen. He’s in a musical written by Kelsi, and he’s a fantasy snow prince: his hair dyed blue, snowflake patterns on his clothes, a gleaming crown.

Ryan smiles stiffly, untangles Chad’s hand from his shoulder. “Thanks, Chad. You should go. The show’s going to start soon.” In the stage lights, he seems to be glowing -- a bright, metallic blue. But there’s something faltering about him, even though he seemed fine earlier.

Maybe he can -- is he allowed to--?

It feels like there are unspoken rules in place. Chad breaks one, uncaring, hating the hollowness in Ryan’s voice.

Chad unhooks the necklace from his neck with shaking fingers; he pulls Ryan’s hand toward him and pries open a warm palm, dropping it in the center. “Here. Look. You can wear this. My grandpa gave it to me. He found that shell at a beach, when he met my grandmother. He told me that it’s for luck. I always wear it to my games.”

Ryan’s eyes widen, and he makes a small sound. Like a cry, a muted scream. “Chad, you can’t -- stop fucking with me--” He stops, breathes, closes his eyes; his fist clenches tightly around the seashell. “Get my sister, Danforth. The show’s going to start. I need--”

Chad can’t find his voice to explain. He doesn’t even know what to say. He swallows, and practically sprints to find Sharpay in one of the dressing rooms, checking her hair in the mirror. “Sharpay. Ryan’s calling for you. About the show.”

“Fine,” she says, setting down a brush. “And please go join your friends in the audience, Danforth; we’re about to go onstage. Unless you want to serve as a rather unattractive scenery shrub.”

He ignores the insult, following her back toward Ryan. Ryan is still -- Chad doesn’t know the word, _panicking_ \-- but he relaxes when Sharpay strides over to him.

“The _hell_ , Danforth?” Sharpay snarls, shoving Chad away.

Chad doesn’t want to go through this again. Not all this goddamned _confusion_. He runs. He can hear the soft, worried strains of Sharpay’s voice fading behind him: _oh Christ, don’t cry, Ry -- you’re smearing your makeup, you realize -- it’s okay, ducky, he’s an uncivilized jerk --_

 

**five.**

The show, in Miss Darbus’ later words, is an unmitigated disaster. Chad watches Ryan stumble on the stage, his expression unfocused and voice uncertain; he meets Chad’s eyes once, utterly wretched. He doesn’t look at Chad again.

Sharpay’s performance is just as ruined. She keeps glancing at Ryan anxiously, stopping to remind him what to do next. The other performers -- Jason and Martha -- are thrown off by Ryan and Sharpay’s mistakes, and basically: everything’s a mess.

Kelsi, at the piano, is close to tears. It’s her show, and Chad’s fucked everything up.

“What’s going on?” Troy says in Chad’s ear. “They were fine during their rehearsal. The Evans are usually -- I dunno, perfect.”

Chad shrugs.

On Troy's other side, Gabriella says something. Troy passes on to Chad, “You saw them before the show, right? Did you see if something happened?”

“Shut up, Bolton,” Chad snaps. “Mind your own business.”

“Chad!” Troy says. Other members of the audience immediately glare at him, and he quickly says, “Sorry.” Troy tries again, after a few seconds. “Seriously, dude, did they fight or something?”

“No,” Chad says, dull. “No, the twins didn’t fight. Now _shut up._ ”

Miss Darbus announces intermission then, an apology in her voice. Chad takes off before his friends can question him further.

He finds himself backstage once again. He pushes past Jason and Martha; Ryan and Sharpay are hiding somewhere, probably to escape any worried complaints or criticism. They’re not in any of the dressing rooms. He finally catches a glimpse of Ryan’s blue costume through the half-open door of the prop room.

Dust is swirling in the air. Forgotten costumes and furniture clutter up the three walls of shelves. It’s pitch black in here; only the outside stage lights piercing through.

Ryan is alone. He sits on the floor, arms wrapped around his knees, murmuring some of the music Chad recognizes from the musical. Practicing. He doesn’t look up to acknowledge Chad.

Chad sinks on the ground, sitting across from Ryan. Their feet are almost brushing, Chad’s sneakers against Ryan’s dusty blue loafers. “Where’s Sharpay?” he says.

“Apologizing to Kelsi -- although, of course, Shar won’t exactly drop the words _sorry_ or _apology_ in,” Ryan replies. He lets out a shuddering laugh. “God, the last time I was this bad, it was because I spiked a fever in the middle of a dance number.”

“I’m sorry,” Chad says, haltingly. He reaches over, lifts the crown on Ryan’s head, and puts it on his own. It makes Ryan laugh a little, and Chad returns the crown, biting back a smile.

Ryan whispers, “I’ve been in love with you since ninth grade.”

“I’m an asshole, aren’t I?”

“Hell yes,” Ryan says.

“Sorry,” Chad says again.

“You better mean it.”

“Yeah,” Chad says, scooting forward to twine his arms around Ryan’s neck, their bodies tangling together. His forehead rests against Ryan’s, blue makeup rubbing off into his skin, and he doesn’t _care_. He kisses Ryan until they’re both breathless, and says, “Love you, too.”

 

**+one.**

“I’m sorry about your musical, Kelsi,” Chad says, leaning over the piano. “I liked it, you know. A lot. The costumes and the songs are pretty neat.”

“It’s okay,” she says. “They did much better at the end. And there’s always tomorrow night’s showing, and the night after that.” Kelsi musters a smile, peering at Chad through her glasses. “I guess the twins -- Ryan, particularly -- were really trying, but they had other things on their mind. I can’t fault them for worrying or being affected or whatever.”

“I,” Chad starts to say.

“It’s fine,” Kelsi says, and then she smirks -- Jesus, Chad didn’t know Kelsi could _smirk._ “Chad, you have something right there.” She points.

Chad flushes. With the back of his hand, he hurriedly wipes the traces of powder and glitter off his mouth.

“I’m glad everything’s worked out,” Kelsi says, and Chad makes a mental note to give her one of Zeke’s desserts next time. He has amazing friends -- and speaking of which, he has to introduce them to his boyfriend.

 

* * *

 

 

“When will they be here?” Ryan says, his shoes tapping on the hardwood floor, like he’s dancing. “You didn’t forget to give them a time, did you?”

Chad’s legs are jiggling, up and down, as if he’s juggling a soccer ball on his knees. “No, I told them by noon.” He forces himself to stay still, and then blinks. “You’re wearing my necklace.”

“Yeah,” Ryan says, and it looks good on him, a seashell for a boy with sea blue eyes. “And it’s our necklace, isn’t it? For both of us to wear. No need to keep _borrowing_ things.”

“And it doesn’t clash with your other clothes?” Chad teases.

“Everything goes with it,” Ryan says. He pauses. “I realized -- this morning -- where are you planning on going for college? If you get accepted, I mean: your first choice. Kelsi and I are thinking about Juilliard. Are you -- U of A, like Sharpay? She wants to still stay here, near my parents, but...” His voice trails off.

“Iona College,” Chad corrects. “Computer science, but mostly to play basketball. The Gaels are ranked pretty decently. My dad went there when he used to live back east; we think I have a good shot.”

“New York -- holy shit,” Ryan says, fumbling to pull his phone out of his pocket, frantically typing something in. “That’s only about -- half an hour away from Juilliard.”

“Are you serious?” Chad asks, peering at the screen. “Wow, you’re right.” He takes a minute to absorb that all in. “Oh my God.”

“I can’t believe we never told each other where we applied.”

“We’re pretty stupid. Like, majorly, terribly, horribly stupid.”

“--Thirty minutes.”

“I _know_.”

So of course, nobody can quite blame them for kissing when Sharpay, Troy, Gabriella, Kelsi, Taylor, and Zeke walk in.

(Somehow this manages to be less awkward than the time Chad and Ryan announce their relationship to their families. But that’s another story, and there’s still a lot of time.)


End file.
